


among the stars

by HONEYHYUCKS



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Angst, Astrology, BirthStones, Character Death, Dong Sicheng - Freeform, F/M, Fate, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Historical, Kim Jungwoo - Freeform, Sad Ending, Swearing, Ten is a lowkey criminal, Ten is whipped, Top Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Wong Yukhei | Lucas - Freeform, fluffy kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HONEYHYUCKS/pseuds/HONEYHYUCKS
Summary: a little fate can go a long way when used correctly.





	among the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this story is only based off england in the 1500s, so it may not stick to a real world timeline of historical events or inventions. additionally, ten is not 22 in this fic. (maybe 19?)

There’s a breeze—fluttering the flora in different directions and blowing hair behind your ears. Small flowers dot the surrounding fields, leaving occasional wisps of white and yellow and pink amidst a green canvas. The rest of the small town of Drygarde is all but the same: green and beautiful.

You and your family live on a large estate—one named Summerview Residence. The house itself is rather old, dating back around 100 years; the structure is still in marvelous condition, so living in it is a lot less intimidating than initially anticipated. The surrounding land is always verdant due to your family gardener’s meticulous care for the greenery; there is almost never a time where there is a dying plant on the estate.

Your pocket watch reads 11:38 AM, alerting you to go inside for lunch, or Jungwoo, your family’s chef, would kill you without a passing thought. You dash back into your house and to the breakfast table, your loose clothing streaming behind you.

“I’m here,” you pant, hands on your knees and leaning forward, barely able to catch your breath.

“About time,” Jungwoo  jokingly scoffs.

“Yeah, okay.”

—  


****

In a world filled with liars and those who only seek your money, you take pride in knowing Jungwoo is, indeed, your friend. He is always there; he was always there—always by your side.

In the beginning, he was an apprentice, studying cookery under his father. Jungwoo thoroughly enjoys it; it’s everything he enjoys. There is a seldom a time when he isn’t experimenting in the kitchen, testing his luck at creating a new dish. Jungwoo always goes to you so you could taste his prototypes. From time to time, you stay with him in the kitchen for hours on end to watch him make his newest dishes.

You plop down on a stool and tilt your head to see his current work-in-progress.

“So,” you begin, “whatcha making there, buddy?” You lean forward as Jungwoo places a cold soup on your side of the counter. You quickly spoon it into your mouth.

“What I am making,” he says, gesturing toward his pot, “is food.”

“Of what kind?” you ask between sips.

“Smoked pork jowl with pickles.”

“Sounds… complicated,” you say with a grin, getting up to place the emptied bowl on a barrel of water. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

You gently wave, the sound of your footsteps slowly waning as you left the room.

—  


****

The stone walkways blaze under the unforgiving mid-afternoon sun. You carefully hop, alternating feet, to a side gate of your family’s property and push the it open, stepping onto the bustling street filled with locals and loud chatter.

Looking around at the multitude of stands, you notice many of them have cheap trinkets whose glitz pierces your eyes as the sun shines on them. One in particular though, stands out to you a bit more. Motley (and genuine) jewels glitter on a table covered in a draping crimson silk, and behind the table, there is a young man who looks to be about your age. His hair is a piceous color, glossy black-brown strands falling just below his eyebrows, and his clothes are rather soiled, but, in your eyes, he’s kind of cute.

You amble over to the stand and observe the stones.

“Hello,” the merchant greets. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“No. Just browsing.”

He hums.

Pretty, you muse. “What are these?”

“Birthstones. According to the month you are born in, you get a rock.” He chuckles to himself.

“Then, if I was born in May, what birthstone would I receive?”

“Probably aventurine. Or emerald if you’d like to spend that much. You’re pretty lucky. They’re beautiful rocks.” He pauses. “Would you like to buy one? Aventurine is 56.92 sterlings apiece.”

“I will consider it.”

“Of course. Just come back when you decide.” He holds out his hand, gesturing for you to shake it. “I’m Ten.”

“Y/N,” you respond, bringing his hand into a firm handshake.

—  


****

Sitting on the steps of your manor, you gaze at the vespertine sky, cloaked in a curtain woven with aubergine and orange strings of silk. Your fingertips brush against the cool slate and you lean back onto your palm.

Light footsteps approach you from behind. You turn around, instantly able to identify Jungwoo’s thin silhouette. He walks to your side and sits down.

You turn to look at him. “What are you doing out at such a late hour?”

“I would ask you the same thing.” He grins.

“Just,” you murmur, “observing.”

“Observing what?”

“The sky.”

Jungwoo hums.

“Do you know what a birthstone is?”

“Oh. Those things. To put simply, they’re rocks assigned to you based on your birth month.”

“I see.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I came across this shop in the street that sold those things. The guy offered to sell me one, but I didn’t want it at the moment, so I told him I’d come back when I decided.”

“Really? How much was it?”

You hum in thought. “56.92 sterlings for one, I believe.”

“Buy it! You have money, anyways. It’ll be quite the exquisite trinket.”

“I’m trusting you on this one, Jungwoo.” Your lips tug into lazy grin.

“That should be a given, am I right?”

You chuckle and push yourself up from the stairs. Brushing imaginary dirt off your knees, you turn around and walk inside.

“Night.”

“Yeah.”

—  


****

Waking up in the morning is always quite the trip for you; it is always so _tiring_ —so much work. You really don’t want to leave you bed; it’s the very best thing in the world. There is not much upside except seeing the captivating view of sunlight the color of buttermilk, flowing along the floorboards.

Getting ready, you change into some loose, everyday attire and run your hands through your hair as you walk down the stairs.

“Hey,” Jungwoo greets.

“How ‘ya doing?”

“Alright. And you?”

“Ah. I'm doing fine.” You lay your forearms on the counter.

Jungwoo nods and slides a plate of bread and wine over. “Here’s breakfast.”

****

“Thanks.”

You pick up the bread and finish it in three bites. Of course, you know that’s not what your parents had taught you to do, but it isn’t like they are ever here to check.

Sliding your plate back to Jungwoo and mumbling a quick ‘ _Thank you_!’, you scurry out of your house.

Almost skipping, you walk out to the street. You catch a glimpse of Ten’s stall and saunter over, bending your knees a little and propping your elbows onto the table of the stall.

“I’m back!” you chirp.

Ten is a bit startled; he jumps a little in his seat. You giggle as he lifts his head and grins.

“So,” he begins, “you’ve decided to take the birthstone?”

“That would be correct, yes.”

Ten smiles. He takes a look behind him and scans the shelf. His eyes finally catches sight of the aventurine. Gently, he picks it up and slides it over to you.

****

“56.92 sterlings.”

You fish a small mound of coins out of your pockets and drop them into Ten’s palm. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

You pick up the aventurine. You were about to turn around and leave, but you hear Ten calling your name. “Y/N! Wait.”

You turn around. “What is it?”

“Can I interest you in a free fortune telling? For purchasing the birthstone.” His eyes sparkled.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Cool. Thank you.” Ten seems delighted—and for a reason you hope is normal.

“Here,” he says, “give me your hands.”

You comply. Ten brings your hand up to his eye level and observes it.

“I predict,” he explains, “that you and I will have more encounters; that you and I will have a future.”

“W-What the hell?”

“Never mind that. You’re cute, want to go out on a date? If that’s what you’d like to call it?”

You stand, a little dumbfounded. Now, are you going to accept? Of course. Of course you would go on this date with this guy you met on a street. We’re all risk takers here, right? Glancing up, you notice Ten picking at his nails, a roseate blush snaking up his cheeks.

“Yes. Sure. That’d be very nice, thank you for asking.”

Ten smiles (May you add, he is literally glowing.) and clasps his hands together. “Wonderful! Meet me at 7:00 at the tavern tomorrow?”

“I believe it would be possible, yes.”

“Great! I’ll see you there. Now, if you have business you must attend to, please don’t mind me and go do so,” he responds.

“Ah… then I will go ahead and do that. Have a nice day.”

You almost dash right out of that place. Oh gosh, how awkward that was, how awkward _you_ were. The only explanation you had been able to think of is that you get flustered in front of cute boys. And Ten is certainly a cute boy.

—  


****

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Jungwoo, you’ll never believe what happened.”

“Oh my god, what? Is it good? Bad?”

“It’s good, of course it is. What else could it be?”

“Okay, okay. So…?

“Where to begin… okay. So, I went to the vendor today as you recommended.”

He nods. “Go on.”

“Simply put it, I got asked out by the guy there.”

“ _Oh my goodness_.”

“I know!”

“You are going to do it, right?”

“Well, of course,” you answer. “7 PM tomorrow.”

“That,” he laughs, “is wonderful!”

“Exciting, right?”

Jungwoo smiles and nods.

****

You gently wave and leave the foyer, your shoes creating reticent clacks on the tile floor. You hands are shoved in your pockets as you drag your feet through the labyrinthine hallways, finding your bedroom after a long walk.

There is not much in there aside from a bed and a small table. A few plants drape from the narrow window sills, existing limply, overwhelmed by the unnatural heat of the candles lit next to them. The table, painted a brilliant alabaster, stands next to your bed. Atop the table is a single candle.

‘ _We have this much wealth and yet you decide to live like a peasant?_ ’, your parents would ask you every time they see your room, rhetorically, of course. To that you would always answer, ‘ _Aren’t I saving you money?_ ’

They’d storm off, leaving you standing behind them smirking.

Collapsing onto the queen sized bed, you immediately doze off.

—  


****

As you wake, a tepid air peppers your cheeks and hugs your eyelids. You clutch your blanket a little closer to your chest. At least you’re feeling a little less tired than last night; that’s good. Rubbing your eyes, you toss and turn in your bed, trying (and to no avail) to find a comfortable position.

You sit up. There is no use for falling asleep again; it’s already—you look out the window—approaching midday. Running your hands through your hair, a blithesome sigh escapes your lips.

Stumbling out of your bed and walking to the washroom, you open the lid to a barrel of water. You scoop a bit of water into your cupped hand, bringing it up to your mouth and allowing it to flow in. You swish it around your mouth then spit it into the stone basin beside the barrel. Grabbing a ribbon from the hook on the wall, you use it to tie your hair back.

You walk into the kitchen and lean on the counter.

“Morning,” you call.

“Morning.” Jungwoo stays still for a little, eyes downcast, then his head jerks up. He snaps his fingers once. “Today! Today’s the date, am I right?”

You smile. “Oh yeah. Sure is.”

“Ooh… I’m excited for you. I’ll help you prepare, if you’d like.”

“First though, make me breakfast.” Your face unfurls into a wide grin.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he jests. “In fact, that has already been completed. The more convenient the better, am I right?”

You chuckle. “Well of course.”

Jungwoo slides a plate over—one filled with your favorite type of bread and suspicious sauce of a cerise color. “Try it. I made a new jam last night and I’ve been itching for you to try and see what it tastes like.”

You take a bite. It certainly isn’t bad; perhaps you have never tried something like it, but the jam differs greatly from the others you’ve had.

“How is it?”

“Not bad. Different is all.”

“That’s good. It’s made of cornelian cherries.”

“That… I’ve never heard of those. But it’s good.”

“It better have been. Those things were expensive.”

“Thank goodness you know a thing or two about jams.”

—  


****

The sun nears the horizon, and as it makes its descent across the sky, an aurulent glow shadows everything in Drygarde; the outer edges of houses and trees now twilit in the humid air. A tapestry of cesious and bronze hangs above, overseeing all of the town, and blanketing the smell of cheap alcohol and rotting food.

Your parents never liked you going out into the real world; they never liked you leaving your little bubble on the estate. You, personally, find a “normal” life is what better suits your liking. The streets, always bubbling with people, made you feel more at ease than your hollow shell of a home.

You find yourself standing in front of the only tavern in your town. The Yellow Crystal Inn, it is called. You pull open the heavy door and step inside. As soon as you enter, unbelievably loud chatter fills your ears. Many patrons are sitting, laughing with others over a mug of beer, or digging into a plate of food. You scan the room, and in the back corner, you see a familiar head of black-brown hair. You nudge at the crowds, making your way to Ten. At last you do, and you slide into the seat across from him.

“Hi,” you say, out of breath. “I hope you’ve not been waiting long.”

“Only a couple minutes.”

“Ah. Good. So, Ten, how have you been for the last, I don’t know, thirty hours?”

“Thinking about you is all,” he responds with a small smirk.

Your face flushes. “Ah, stop that! You’re so cheesy,” you exclaim with a miniscule laugh.

Ten giggles. “Sorry about that; I’m not good at pick up lines.”

“Says the one who asks people on dates by giving them a false fortune telling.”

“In my defense, you _did_ have a long love line.”

****

You hold your hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay.”

Ten hums. “So, Y/N, tell me about yourself.”

“Well, as you know, I’m Y/N. And I don’t believe there’s much else to say, if I’m being completely honest.”

“Come on,” he groans, “there’s got to be more than that.”

“Well, I’ve had one best friend my whole life, and I think I’ve eaten toast every morning since I was 13,” you answer. “Is that enough?”

“No, but I’ll take it.” Ten laughs.

“It’s your turn to tell me about _yourself_ ,” you say.

****

“Ah, well, for starters, I am, in fact, not ten years old. That’s a nickname. My real name is Chittaphon. No one calls me that though.”

He thinks for a moment. “Well, I guess one could say I’m afraid of fruit.”

“W-What?” you sputter.

“Yeah. I know it’s sort of unusual, but at this point, it’s sort of funny.”

You chuckle. “Okay. Please go on.”

“Um, I also like to dance.”

“That’s pretty cool. You’ve got to show me one day.”

“Of course,” Ten responds, a smile gracing his features.

Who you’d assume is waiter approaches you and Ten. “Hello, my name is Donghyuck and I’ll be your server for today!” he says, albeit a little too loud and cringes. “What can I get you?”

“We’ll get a fry-up.” He turns to you. “Is that okay?”

You nod and hum.

“Alright,” answers Donghyuck as he scurries away. “That’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Anyways,” you say, “tell me a little more.” You lean your elbows on the board and your chin on your knuckles as you grin.

“I don’t think there’s much to tell; I’m a boring person,” he replies, a wan smile flickering on Ten’s face then fading back to the soft one that you have accustomed yourself to seeing.

You can’t help but be intrigued. You had met Ten for—what, a day? That’s kind of a short time to begin falling in love, you had realized. But after conversing for a while, you begin to realize that he is, in fact, not who you anticipated; despite his outward appearance, he is knowledgeable and humorous, perhaps more so than you have already seen. When you had decided to quote a bit of Homer, he delivered with a lengthier one. Now, that is someone you could easily live with for the next ten years, exchanging quotes and jokes daily. The one thing you can’t seem piece together with the others is this: _Why was he dressed so poorly on the day you met him?_

—  


****

You wonder, as he chats with you and when he bids you goodnight and as you halfheartedly return it, why. It doesn’t add up—with knowledge only accessible by the upper class, and clothing only worn by the peasants, what can he be? But alas, he is an unsolvable enigma—that you figured out when he avoided sharing much about himself while you did in large amounts. Such mystery is quite becoming, actually; it makes you yearn for knowledge, or _understanding_ , rather. Strange, is it not?

****

As you settle into your bed with the wish to fall asleep, a few recurring thoughts still plague your conscience. _Why_? And _how_? Of course, you know that there are endless answers to such questions, but you can’t help but wonder.

****

Unfortunately, it seems your wish could not come true. It is hours after midnight and you’ve still not felt tired, save for a blink of rest. You wander downstairs, light an oil lamp, and out the heavy door to the back gate of the estate. You go to the small, publicly owned woodland area behind your family’s property. The land, nestled with lush greenery and winding, tortuous streams like a mountain road, all lead to the center; there stands a small waterfall. It isn’t one that crashes its water to the ground in thunderous courses, but one that lets its water flow from the peak of the topography to the base in soft, layered spills. You manage to hike—without falling—to the center of the woods. Sitting on a semi-flat rock you found, you behold the myriad of sterling silver stars, each one of them but an insignificant speck of dust sinking into the vast night. The sky is an inky black; a few clouds drift across the quarter moon like thin strokes of white paint.

“Hello there,” says a new, yet familiar voice. You almost fall off your rock, but you anchor yourself and turn your head towards the source.

“Good… day, Ten.” You pause for a moment and he signals you to go on. “If I may ask, why are you out in the woods at three o'clock in the morning?’

“And I was about to ask you the same thing, _dear_ Y/N.” Your cheeks flush at the remark.

You jut your chin out. “But your answer?”

“Well,” he says, “I guess I can’t sleep.”

“Ah. Same for me, I suppose.”

Ten hums knowingly. “Sucks, doesn’t it? When you want to sleep but you can’t?” He moves to lay beside you on the grass, hands locked together beneath his head.

“Yeah,” you answer halfheartedly.

“Would you consider it fate,” Ten says after a pause, “that we meet each other here, in a forest, in the dead of night?”

“Perhaps it is. It’s unpredictable, though, is it not?”

“That is true. For all one knows, the stars could be with us.”

“Possibly.”

“You know what’s intriguing?” Ten inquires suddenly.

“What is it?”

“Astrology. And I just so happen to know a good amount about it as well.”

“Tell me about my zodiac sign then.”

“I believe… you are a Taurus—a bull. People born in the Taurus house are calm and confident leaders _and_ one of your lucky numbers are supposed to be two—like the amount you paid for the birthstone.”

****

“Seems that it’s fate, is it not?”

“Perhaps it is.”

The following hour is spent chatting about anything, to be wholly realistic. Just anything that comes to mind. And you’ve come to realize that Ten’s laughter is, in fact, one of which that sounds the most euphonic to your ears.

You glance up at the sky, which is now turning a dim yellow, and realize that it is getting quite late. Or early, you should say. Perhaps Jungwoo would not kill you for getting home at 4 AM, but that is but a figment of the imagination.

“Hey, Ten?” You wave a hand in front of his face as it seems as though he’s fallen asleep. “I’ve got to go. It was nice talking to you.”

He looks up at you and blinks. “Yeah, it should be time for me to go as well. See you around, yeah?”

You nod and wave to him as you pick up your lamp and walk away.

—  


****

As the days drag on and your fate-proposed meetings (though you doubt they are) with Ten become more frequent, you begin to hear news of your parents’ arrival back home. You know you should be happy that your own parents are coming back, but you can’t help but have no opinion on the matter. After all, they are the ones who are home once a month.

One day, though, you begin to hear more noise than normal. More people chatter and more plates clatter against one another after being set on the table. You briefly wonder of the potential events you’d not heard about yet. That is, though, until Jungwoo rushes into your once serene bedroom and declares to you of your parents’ arrival back to the estate. You’d been expecting such news; they ought to come back sometime.

Your parents are the ones who tell you to act parallel to your social class. They tell you to dress nicely, to take your education seriously, to have good table manners, and to only talk to worthy people. (You think these rules are nonsense—and you don’t comply; it’s not like your parents can enforce them.)

Jungwoo gently grabs your arm and leads you to the large—already set—dining table where your parents are sitting, lending you words of encouragement—most of which you don’t need—on the way. As you pull a chair backwards and sit down, you could feel your parents’ stifling stares.

“Hello, Mother, Father,” you greet, careful not to slip on your words.

“Hello, Y/N,” your father says. “How are you doing?”

“I am doing well. Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“I am doing fine, as well.” You nod. “I have come with a purpose. I have news for you.”

You heart skips a beat. By the tone of his voice, such “news” is not going to benefit you. “Please go on.”

“Well, Y/N, I,” he says, gesturing at himself, “have decided that you must marry in two months.”

Your jaw tightens. “With all due respect Father, I don’t wish to proceed with this.”

“I said ‘must’, dear child. By that, I mean that you _will_ marry someone. Someone of my choice.”

****

“Father. I’d hope you believe that I am my own person and therefore, _I_ will choose who I wish to marry. Not you.”

“You,” he says, his face contorting into an angry glare, “will listen to what I say. You are my offspring and I am your elder. You are to obey.”

Your mother appears afraid.

“Father!” you yell, slamming your hands on the table. The plates rattle. “I will not.”

“You will. There will be no more conversation on this topic.”

Before you could try to hurl more reason into your father’s head, he turns around and leaves the room with long strides and his chin up. You sink back down in your chair and pick at your food. It is no one’s dream to marry someone they do not love, nor would it be yours, and you cannot fathom what type of person your father could possibly select for you to marry. 

“I’m sorry Y/N, but your father knows what’s best for you,” your mother says, trying to comfort you.

You only hum.

—  


****

You hear a rustle in the tree beside the one you sit beside. You turn your head. Ten pokes his head out from behind the gnarled tree trunk and gives you a cheeky grin.

“Well, hello there, Ten.”

“Hello. How are you doing?”

“Not the best, actually.”

“And why is that?”

“Well,” you say, trying your best to repress your anger, “my father is forcing me to marry.”

Over the last few weeks, you’ve learned to trust Ten. He tells you the truth, and you do the same; it is the unspoken system you have established over the times you have talked. The both of you confide in each other of your struggles and worries, and it provides much more security than your past daily routine of excessive thinking. And sometimes, only sometimes, you think you might be falling in love.

He gasps. “You’re kidding me.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning you to go in for a hug. You roll over the grass and pull him into a loose hug. Your chin rests on the crook of his neck, eyes melting into an ever growing sea of glass threatening to overrun.

“You’ll find a way out of this, I promise.”

“I hope so.”

“I’ll help you; don’t worry.”

“How so?”

“We’ll run away together,” he suggests, eyes twinkling.

 _Perfect_. You pause for a second to think.

“I’ll do it.”

—  


****

You and Ten devise a simple plan to escape; there is minimal thinking involved, only impulse.

Were you willing to leave everything you’ve grown up with? Certainly. There is nothing there to miss—except Jungwoo. You can’t just leave him; he’s been with you his whole life. The thing is, though, that you can’t exactly bring him with you either. Nowhere in you and Ten’s plan is there room for a third person.

You sit on the porch of your house, racking your brain up and down for a possible way to break the news to Jungwoo. You are _sure_ he will be surprised, and far less sure he will be angry. He is never one to be angry.

****

“Y/N?”

You turn your body to face the door. You see Jungwoo, one shoulder propped on the door frame, a faint smile dotting his face.

“Hey, Jungwoo, perfect timing. I need to tell you something,” you say.

He sits beside you. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, so… well, did you hear that I have to marry?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I guess you didn’t,” you say, chuckling. “Yeah. I’m marrying someone that Father chooses.”

“That… is horrible.”

“Yeah… but guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m running away.”

He stops himself from bursting into a yell. “Are you serious? How are you even going to do it?”

“Well, I think I’m running into the woods with birthstone guy,”—as Ten is referred to by Jungwoo— “and hopefully get away from here. In a month.”

Jungwoo looks skeptical, but he nods.

You chuckle. “Are you not suspicious as to why I’m going with Ten?”

“I see you going out at night all the time and you come back safe. I can only assume Ten is trustworthy.”

You cheeks turn a weak red. “Ah. Well, the thing is,” you say, taking a breath, “the plan we made only includes two people. Which would be Ten and I.”

“And…?”

“Oh good—I thought you’d be a little upset.”

“No! Why would I? This is for your own good, Y/N. I’ll support you.”

“Oh my God. Thank you.” You envelop Jungwoo in a crushing hug. “Just please don’t tell my parents.”

“I won’t. I swear on my life.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. It’s what friends do, yeah?”

You hold him tighter.

—  


****

After one month of sitting in your house during the day and meeting Ten in the dead of night, the planned escape becomes so close—so close that you could almost feel its warm breath on the nape of your neck.

Eventide soon approaches, and you, with only the quintessential items packed into a large satchel, tiptoe to the kitchen to bid Jungwoo the only meager ‘ _goodbye_ ’ you could give. You are careful to avoid your parents who are in their bedroom with the door open.

The back gate is so close—so close to autonomy. And then you cross it. You see Ten waving at you with a slight shift of the hand behind a bush. You shuffle to his hiding place, silently praying that no one sees you. You take one more glance over your shoulder one more time before turning to Ten and muttering a hushed ‘ _let’s go_ ’.

****

“You sure?”

You force a smile. “As ever.”

“Okay.”

You two are not sure of where you may be going, but to you, anywhere away from your arranged marriage is good.

The sky cast its braids of afterglow among the earthen trails you strode upon, the _oh-so-familiar_ pond in the forest remaining still, but drifting farther and farther from your eyesight.

The smile that flickers on your face is sentimental.

—  


****

You had not packed enough money to last a lifetime; you couldn’t. But eventually, you run out. The frugal amount of silver you had left from the previous two weeks can only be used to rent a room for a night—and that is what you do. You stop at the nearest inn on Ten’s map: the Cosmos Inn.

He and you step up to the front desk. You slide a few coins over the counter and the clerk wordlessly gives you a key with the number 2 on it. Mouthing a quick ‘ _thanks_ ’, you and Ten pad across the groaning floorboards to your room. As you are turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open, Ten leads into the room and collapses onto the straw mattress. He seems tired, you muse sarcastically and follow suit. 

****

The bed frame is queen sized, made of splinter-inducing and unfinished wood, and the horizontal boards quietly protest at Ten’s sudden weight; the layer above is ten or eleven centimeters of sepia straw threatening to slip out of its paltry cover. The floor is covered in a layer of old dirt, stomped into their matted state by the angry feet of other inn patrons.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You kind of just did, Y/N.” The corners of his lips curl upward.

You groan. “No, seriously.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“Why did you ask me to run away with you? It doesn’t seem like there’s much for you to run from.”

“Actually…”

Is this supposed to mean something other than what you had thought? You raise an eyebrow at him.

He curses under his breath. “Forget I said that. I asked you because I needed to go somewhere anyways, and you needed to do the same.”

You hum. “It’s getting dark. We should probably get to sleep.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

Ten pulls the insubstantially thin blanket over the both of you and cradles his head in his interlocked hands. “‘Night,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight.”

—  


****

The loud chirp of a sparrow is the first thing to wake you up in the morning. Then comes the sun. The July sun beats down on your skin and hair and you squint a little. By the position of the sun, you assume it is around seven o’clock in the morning. The hole in the wall—which you hope is a window—allows a fuzzy white square to appear on the ground. You sit against the wall and rub your eyes, and doing so even harder to remove the eyelash from your eye.

You hope you had slept enough. If not, you’d have to sleep outside in the middle of the day. Not like you would not have to do that tonight, though. By the time you think of falling asleep again, you are too alert to do that, so you settle for laying awake and staring at the yellowing ceiling.

Ten stirs beside you and his eyelids flutter slightly before opening. He rubs his eyes with the pads of his fingers before running his hands through his hair. He props himself up on his elbows.

“Morning,” he greets groggily.

You chortle. “Good morning.”

“How did you sleep? Did you dream of me?”

“I slept well—because I dreamt of nothing.” You laugh and silently prays that he isn’t offended. And your statement is a lie because you _did_ dream of him. You dreamt of him holding you in a warm embrace; you dreamt of playing with his hair and laughing with him; you dreamt of him kissing you. To think that you aren’t in love—lies.

He snickers. “That’s a lie and you know it.” He smirks.

Your cheeks redden. “C-Certainly not!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in defeat.

****

Ten giggles and scratches his neck in embarrassment when his stomach emits a low churn. 

“Would you like breakfast right now?” you ask.

He looks up at you. “We have no money.”

“We could catch some fish,” you suggest without a scintilla of doubt.

“Where and how exactly?”

“I don’t know, isn’t there a stream somewhere here?”

“I think there is, but I’m not sure. How are we even going to catch them though?”

“With our hands…?” you reply, now unsure.

You get up from the bed and grab the twine sitting on your satchel. Holding your hair in one hand, you use the other to wrap the string around and tie a knot. You reach into your bag to grab Ten’s map, unrolling it and examining the details. There is a jagged blue line a few millimeters above the dot labeled ‘ _Cosmos Inn_ ’. So there is a stream, you think.

“Ten?”

“Yeah?”

“There seems to me that there is a stream not far from here. We could probably catch some trout there. I just so happen to have some extra string and a fishing hook.”

“Perfect!”

—  


****

The stream is a deep one, hidden away in a thicket of beech trees, its water tinted olive green from algae. Daylight peeks through the tightly woven canopy of flourishing leaves onto the boggy soil of the bank.

You take to setting up the fishing rod by gathering a long stick and tying string and the fishing hook to it. There are no worms around, so you opt out of attempting to catch one.

“Can I try it?” Ten asks, a playful grin dancing on the apples of his cheeks. “I’ve never done this before, but it looks fun.”

You hand him the stick and he brings the string behind his shoulder and throws it forward. You are not sure it’s the correct way to fish, but alas, anything goes when you’re hungry.

Ten pouts when, after many minutes, the fishing rod still weighs next to nothing. “There’s, like, nothing here.”

“I’m sure there’s _something_.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Just try a little longer.”

****

“I hope this works,” he comments as he returns to glaring at the line. He jiggles the line back and forth—as if that would help. His salmon pink lips are pouted and his eyes are trained on the spot where the string meets the water. You cannot help but stare.

“Am I _that_ hot?” he asks with a smirk.

 _Shit_. “What?”

“Don’t pretend that you weren’t staring, hm?”

****

“I-I’m not!” you protest.

“Sure…”

Ten goes for one more throw of the string, but however it happens, he manages to slip on the bank he squats on and falls into the water. You snicker.

“Shut up!” he yells, laughing. He sticks his hand under his bangs and flips it back. You stifle another giggle, but before you can do anything else, you are pulled into the water by the hand. A rock comes in harsh contact with your head and your vision swims momentarily, but your past swim instructor (Jungwoo) had told you to relax when you feel like you are drowning, and so you do. You hear a low curse and a pair of arms scoops you up from below, bringing you up from the water and onto the dirt. Your eyes stay closed.

For many seconds, you feel nothing but the rhythmic whispers of trees in the wind, then a steady breath nearing closer and closer until you feel a warm touch on your lips. For a second or two, you aren’t sure of what’s going on. But then you understood that you were receiving CPR. But you’re very alive, are you not? And so you open your eyes a little and see Ten sending you strained breaths. You giggle and grasp his cheeks. He almost chokes on air and pulls away, he smiles and leans in once more. His lips are chapped, albeit watery, but warm. Ten pushes no boundaries, only lingering for a few seconds before retreating.

“I,” he pauses, “thought you were unconscious.”

“For a second I was, yes.”

Ten hums. He fails to conceal a ruddy blush that spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Rolling onto his back and sprawling himself on the stream bank, both of you gaze at the sky, silently storing this memory for safekeeping.

You turn to look at Ten. “You know, I really like you,” you decide.

He breathes an effervescent laugh. “You know, I really like you, too.”

And this time, you pull him into a kiss. Your hands rests on the base of his neck, idly playing with his hair. Ten is lazy but loving, and his arm rests around your waist, the other one grazing across your cheekbone. When he pulls away, he titters and gives you a peck on your lips.

“We haven’t caught a fish yet, you know?”

You pause. “Oh, yeah.”

“There,” Ten says, pointing to the fish on the ground—which was not there before, “seems to be a fish on the ground.”

You cock your eyebrow. “Interesting. I’m taken any chance I may have.” You grab the fish. It seems clean enough, you muse.

“We should _probably_ go.”

“Probably.”

—  


****

“Remember when I told you that I needed to go somewhere?”

“Yeah?”

“Here we are.”

Before you stands an average Tudor house with average white walls and average brown wood beams. You shoot Ten a wary glance. “What… why?”

“I wanted to show you where I grew up.”

“I see.”

Ten beckons you to come with him. You follow, and as soon as the door is pushed open, you are bombarded with the bluster of voices yelling over each other.

“Ten? It’s been _three_ years. Where the hell have you been?” someone yells.

****

“Taeyong? It’s been so _damn_ long,” he says, dropping his fish and pulling, who you now know as Taeyong, into a tight hug. “I’m finally back.”

Not a second later, two more people barrel down the stairs. Their faces are ones of surprise, but they quickly contort into one of glee. “Ten!” They pile on, wrapping their arms around him and laughing.

****

“Oh my God, I’ve missed you guys so much.”

When Taeyong loosens his grip, he turns to Ten and mouths something to him, cocks his eyebrow, then smiles knowingly. “Y/N? Is that your name?”

You stop staring at the floor. “Oh. Yeah. That’s my name.”

Ten scratches his neck. “Yeah…”

“Can I, uh, have an explanation?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Ten beckons you to follow him to the sitting area with a few benches and a table. “This is Taeyong,” he says, tilting his chin towards the man with wine red hair and a sharp complexion, “this is Lucas,” he says, gesturing at the one with light brown hair and large eyes, “and this is Sicheng.” He points at the man with blond hair with the perfect nose.

“I’m Y/N,” you greet. “You probably heard Taeyong.”

Sicheng hums.

“Well,” Ten begins, “I’ll tell you the whole story.” He looks to the others for a confirmation. Taeyong hesitates for a moment before looking at Sicheng and Lucas; they both glance at each other and nod. “Okay.” He takes a breath. “I met them when my parents dropped me off at an orphanage. I was 14 at the time. My parents were rich people; they were the leaders of an illegal trade circle. They bought valuable goods for cheap and sold them at high prices. That’s also why I’m well educated for my income.”

_So that’s why._

“Anyways, at the orphanage, we were severely mistreated.” His voice turns shaky. “We were given little to no food or water and had to sleep in stables—with the goddamn horses. The orphanage shut down two years after I got there. That wasn’t for any financial or ethical issue though—I killed the owner. When the taxpayers came, Lucas pretended to be his son. And they believed him! So that’s how we got this property. But now I have a bounty over my head because someone—someone who used to live with us—decided to tell the local watchmen. That’s why I ran to Drygarde without telling anyone. But here I am, back, because I’m a softie.”

Ten’s smile is bitter.

You immediately wrap him in a hug, resting your chin over his shoulder. “I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers. “I’m just happy now that you know who I really am.” He pulls away. “You don’t resent me, do you?”

“Of course not.” You pull him back and a warm tear rolls onto your shoulder. You wipe away his tear, murmuring words of encouragement in his ear. Taeyong, Sicheng, and Lucas all look at each other with their eyebrows raised.

“Does Ten have a special someone?” Lucas teases.

“My God, shut up, will you?” He buries his face in his palms.

Ten’s smile is content.

—  


****

You fan yourself. It is impossibly hot outside and both you and Ten are probably dying. Your hair sticks to the back of your neck and your linen shirt to your back. The same stand with a crimson cloth and glistening gems is set up on the side of the street, attracting a customer every now and then. Thankfully there is a tree beside Ten’s stand, providing a barely substantial shade.

A watchman saunters down the road. Ten sees him from afar and ducks under the board. He flashes you a wary glance before curling into a squat in a corner. 

The watchman approaches you.

He holds up a poster. Ten’s image is plastered on it, along with a label that says:

_**Wanted: Dead or Alive** _

You try to stay calm.

“Mister, is there anything that you need?”

“Have you seen,” he points at the paper, “this man?”

“Unfortunately, I have not, sir.”

“Let me check your whole stand.”

Your eyes widen for a moment. “Why?”

“I’m a watchman. I have the imperial right.” As he rounds the side of the table, Ten rolls out from under the stand and sprints the other way. “Men, grab him.”

A few more watchmen leave their posts and chase him down the street. Ten runs. He runs as fast as he could but to no avail. Two men grab his arms and twist them behind him as his and his face contorts into a sharp grimace. You sprint towards him, but the crowd that forms around him is too dense, and you cannot possibly push through.

The head watchman promenades through the crowd. He grabs Ten by the collar and smirks.

“You thought you could get away, huh?” Ten is dropped on the ground.

“Well, I don’t think so.” He is kicked in the stomach. “Because, you, my friend, will die.”

“I’ve been expecting that,” Ten chokes out, along with drops of blood. He spots you in the crowd. Go, he mouths.

“Who you talkin’ to, pretty boy?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I asked,” the watchman kicks Ten in the groin, “who you talking to?”

“No one, sir.”

He leans down to look Ten in the eyes. “Whoever it is, we’ll get them.”

—  


****

“Y/N! What the hell happened?”

You stand still. “Ten.”

“Fucking, God. Lucas, Sicheng!”

“The hell do you want, Taeyong?”

“Something happened to Ten, you shits!”

Sicheng, who was standing by the table, collapses onto the floor; Lucas can’t do anything but stand still.

—  


****

“Guys, I, uh, heard someone yelling outside that there will be a public execution tomorrow in the square,” Taeyong says shakily.

“Yeah,” you mutter, “it was bound to happen, wasn’t it?”

“Do you guys want to go? To, you know, see him off?” His resolve shattered and he bursts into tears, shaking his head in the heels of his hands.

The room is silent, though the bustle of the streets outside could still be heard through the thin walls of the house. “We’ll be okay, yeah? We’ll be okay,” Sicheng murmurs.

Not a word is said.

After two minutes of silence, you could only muster a few words: “I’m going to bed.”

And so you do, climbing the staircase to a corner on the second floor with a blanket spread out. That’s where you and Ten had slept. _Had slept._

Today, you cry yourself to sleep.

—  


****

The sky is a beautiful azure, as if blissfully unaware of the blood that will be shed today.

And the sun has let up a little today; at least _they_ are compassionate.

In the square, there is a rope, a pole, and a stool. Many people crowd around, hoping to get their own glimpse of a long awaited public execution, and maybe even seeing the criminal bleed  ****out their own livelihood. You stand as well, though waiting for a chance to see Ten for one last time. You know how law enforcement is.

He is hauled out with chains binding his arms. His face littered with countless cuts and bruises, some of which still bleed fresh blood; his once grey clothing is now stained russet and matted to his skin in ugly patches. He is emotionless; he seems numb. But when he spots you, he blows you a playful kiss.

You try to smile. Even this close to his death, he is still the same Ten as the one you had met.

The head watchman clears his throat. “Excuse me.”

The square silences. “Today, we witness the execution of Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul for his murder three years ago. He will be hung and killed in this square today.”

People cheer.

****

You feel a tear sliding down your cheek. _You can’t cry. You can’t cry now. Try to let go. Try to let go. Try to let g—_

****

“You there!”

No one speaks.

“I said,” he yells, “you there!”

You look up and see the watchman staring at you. “If you’re so sad to see your pretty boy get hung, why don’t ‘ya come up here and die with him?”

Your jaw drops, and you glance at Taeyong who only gives you an pitiful look.

“Well? Don’t waste our time. Come up here.” He tilts his head at his colleagues, and they rush forward and yank you up to the pedestal with an unsympathetic grip. “Well, well, well. Look, citizens,” he jeers, “look at them. Disgusting.”

They laugh.

Your arms are violently twisted behind you and chained. You are shoved onto a new stool as a coarse rope is hung around your neck and tied to the pole, and when you look to your side, the same has been done to Ten.

He doesn’t look the least bit miserable despite his impending death; you can’t help but try to do the same. And even though the crowd laughs at you, the noise seems to disappear, and Ten is the only person you can focus on.

Next time we meet, he mouths to you, we’ll be among the stars.

He grins weakly.

Then the stools are kicked away.


End file.
